Odin/GalomDaeus
The Journals of Galom Daeus, Sidereal Exalt and Chosen of Endings
- The following are excerpts of the surviving pages of a first age journal, found in the crumbling library of a First Age observatory.
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I have often contemplated the end of an Age. I suppose it is merely another result of being chosen of Saturn, though I must admit the thought was not alien to me before my Exaltation. It would seem that today we have set in motion the wheels that will eventually grind away an Age, though, from my own point of view, it seems we shall end Creation itself lest we take extreme care.
It seems such a cold and logical thing on the outset, but the more I wonder about it, the more I question our motives. It is not merely a corrupt empire we intend to topple, despite the whispers we breathe to the Terrestrials. This coup will collapse the Realm itself, perhaps forever. The dupes and puppets will sit on their quaint little jade thrones and ape their betters’ former splendor, but it will not be the same. The gods will not be pleased by such a disturbance, least of the Unconquered Sun, whose children slowly sink to depravity beneath his proud notice.
If we have miscalculated, and the rebellion fails before the purge has been wrought, the wrath of the Solars could level half of creation. If we succeed, who will defend the Realm from the barbarian hordes and beasts of the Wyld, who are most certain to see this purge as a prime opportunity for invasion? The Terrestrials?
Doubtful, as the Dragon Get are the weakest of us, little better than the piteous mortals for whom we commit mass murder. Perhaps the Children of Luna?
No, too many have already fallen to barbarism and savagery and many more have become slaves to their Solar masters. The Lunars are a liability that may haunt us in the end.
It would seem that the weight of creation shall come to rest upon our shoulders.
Though it is a burden that some shall crave, others will be blissfully unaware of it, and all shall despise it eventually. Perhaps this new “faith” that Chejop proposes shall offer respite, though I loathe his impetuous enthusiasm and lack of perspective. If even a handful of the Dragonlings are foolish enough to accept such drivel I shall be grossly disappointed, though not terribly surprised. My own proposal for a totally secular dictatorship seem to have fallen on deaf ears.
I hate disease. I hate it more than anything on the face of Creation. The loss of life, the contamination of the healthy, the perpetuation of misery, I hate it all. This fact is the most probable reason for my seemingly endless and inescapable duty as a plague ender. The pattern spiders seem to take sadistic pleasure in placing their supervisors in less than pleasurable situations, sometimes to the point outright spite. Their sadistic glee has only grown in scope in the years since the Usurpation. Perhaps this is the price of our seeming victory. I seem to be their most frequent plaything, regardless of reason.
At any rate, not three days ago I found myself ordered to end a plague in a small volcanic metropolis east of Denandsor called Hlorma. I was completely unprepared for the sight that greeted my expedition as our airships crested the crater wall surrounding the City of Steam. Funeral pyres burned in practically every courtyard, sending endless clouds of ash and soot into the heavy air over the hot springs. Hundreds of putrid corpses clogged the famous hot water canals that carry water to and from the bath houses. Flights of raiton circled the city and congregated on rooftops, swooping down to feed on the wretched dead in the streets.
My officers were shocked into such a deep silence that they nearly leaped out of their skins when I began to bark orders. We had no time to search for survivors in the sepulchre that had once been a place of healing. Fire pots must be loaded and lit. Demon laborers must be summoned to collapse the crater. Elementals would have to be summoned to burn away the sickness before it spreads. For the first time in nearly a millenium, I found myself ill, not physically or even mentally, but spiritually. What disease could cause such carnage in so short a time? As the city that had once been called the Healing Embrace of Gaia collapsed into its once placid volcanic pools, I could only fear for what this omen might mean.
How can one as callous and cynical as myself find another wanting for the same reasons? One would think that I would be immune to hypocrisy on such a grand scale, but the simple fact remains, I hate Keyn Alet with all my being. It’s not his arrogance, it’s not his bigotry, it’s not even his obvious disregard for all concerns not his own. I could have forgiven him for all these and more. But I cannot forgive him for what he has done to her. She has become a slave to him, beaten and abused like the lowly mortal servants he takes such delight in terrifying. Why does she allow this? Why does she not kill him in his sleep, like so many others who would have enslaved her? What power does he hold?
It is foolish for me to feel jealousy, for what is she to me but a trusted ally? Her choice in a mate is no more my concern than her choice in dress. But the hatred remains, for a reason I cannot fathom. I would have called such foolishness love in my youth, but that was a dozen lifetimes ago. Love is a pretty lie told to mortals by the gods, lest they despair of their unknowable fates. Love died in me many centuries ago, a casualty of a war that has yet to erupt. My hate for Alet is just that, hate.
My hate for him surpasses any fleeting love I may have felt so long ago. He treats her like a dangerous pet, beaten into submission and chained to him by a single orichalcum link. I have watched her ferocity in awe as she tore into ranks of Fair Folk warriors with the eerie silence that is her birthright, leaving nothing but carnage in her wake. She and I have tread upon the gossamer buttresses of the Spider Gods, never disturbing the slumbering demons set to guard against our presence. Once she braved Malfeas itself to settle a debt of vengeance. Why does she tolerate such abuse?
I go to meet with him tomorrow regarding my assignment. Now that I have been given my greatest wish, why do I hesitate? Is it guilt? Pity? Forgiveness? Or am I simply a coward who cannot face his inner demons. It is fortunate that she will be in the Far East by dawn, for a single glance from those wondrous silver eyes would stay my hand. Our plans must not be compromised by my personal weakness.
I would die for Lillith, and would just as easily kill for her. Keyn Alet will die at dawn, as will Lillith’s trust for me.
Comments
This is really excellent writing, Odin. Tres cool! More, more! - SMK
- Thanky. There'll be more, eventually. Just a note, they're not in any particular order. Odin
I've been reading Relic of the Dawn, and it seems I've hit the nail on head as far as I'm concerned. I wrote this about a month after Sidereals, way before the new novels were released, and it seems that the oly thing keeping my little Lillith story from being canon is the name of her husband. Damn I'm good! Odin
